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LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. 

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UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 



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An Early Scene Revisited 



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BY 



JOHN WITT RANDALL 



EDITED BY 



FRANCIS ELLINGWOOD ABBOT 




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CAMBRIDGE 
JOHN WILSON AND SON 

Mtttijcrsitg ^Press 
1894 



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Copyright, 1894, 
By Francis Ellingwood Abbot. 



A/l rights reserved. 



©nig ©ne l^unHreU Copies ^rinteti. 



AN EARLY SCENE REVISITED 



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AN EARLY SCENE REVISITED. 



I. 

WEET scene ! Oh, how the sight of you once 
*^ more brings to my mind 

Joys fled so long my very heart hath left them now 
behind ! 

1 move unknown 'mongst faces strange, where once I 

knew them all ; 
Throughout the village there was scarce a dog but 

knew my call. 
Ye loved ones of my childhood, kind neighbors once 

so dear, 
I scarce dare look amongst these graves, lest I should 

find you here. 
All new ! There 's nothing meets my eye familiar as 

of yore, 
Save these dark, venerable elms, and the skies that 

arch them o'er. 
All round about my wondering eyes turn on from 

stone to stone. 
And note the friends that once were mine, — a list of 

names alone ! 



6 AN EARLY SCENE REVISITED, 

II. 

Yet one was here I cannot find. '* Pray, Sexton, do 

you know 
A stone marked ' B,' was planted here some twenty 

years ago? " 
" I scarce can tell, and yet methinks just such a stone 

I Ve seen 
In the border of yon gravel walk, that runs across the 

green." 
"Why was it moved?" "Good sir, each spring to 

yonder rows are borne 
The stones o'er folks long dead, for whom are now 

none left to mourn." 
" I grieve for this, good Sexton, for the very spot I 'd 

find 
Where sleeps the early friend who freshly yet lives in 

my mind. 
Fain would I stand beside the mound and let one tear- 
drop flow. 
In memory of the many tears I shed so long ago." 

III. 

"You've known this town before, sir?" "Yes, and 

would I knew it still ! 
Five happy years I spent at school, the school upon 

the hill, 
Hid in the pleasant linden grove; the house I do not 

see." 



AN EARLY SCENE REVISITED. 7 

''You'll see It, sir, from yonder walk; 'tis the soap- 
factory, 
And the linden-grove, a brewery, is knee-deep in mud, 

I trow." 
" Alas, how beautiful of old ! " " You would not know 

it now — 
Absent how long, pray?" "Twenty years." "Oh, sir, 

this town is grown. 
And much improved since then ; new buildings raised ; 

the old pulled down. 
New streets and shops you '11 find ; 't was but a rural 

district then; 
A city now, twelve thousand strong, with mayor and 

aldermen." 

IV. 

"But the fine old church — I see it not! — all built of 

granite gray. 
Two rows of windows, and a spire that shone ten miles 

away." 
" The fashion changed ; they tore it down, and built 

whereon it stood 
Yon Gothic one, I think they call 't." " What, friend ! 

That thing of wood. 
Whose pinnacles of gingerbread, that ever seem to 

quake. 
Shoot up from planks so white you 'd think the whole 

a frosted cake? 



8 AN EARLY SCENE REVISITED. 

And the bell that rang so merrily, so mournfully that 

tolled, 
I would not it were cracked, good man, for all its 

weight in gold." 
" It tolls no more, but, set in brick and turned up 

toward the sky, 
They sold it for a vat, sir, to the brewery hard by." 

V. 

'' And the good old clergyman, — he, too, hath long 

been gone, I fear. 
He had a smile for all who joyed; for all who grieved, 

a tear. 
Where is he? Tell me, is he dead? I mean old 

Parson N." 
** They kept him for a spell, sir, till his sight grew dim, 

and then, 
As they 'd built a brand-new church and put the pulpit 

in repair, 
A deaf, old, rusty parson, who had neither teeth nor 

hair, 
Seemed a mean thing to keep, sir; and so it came to 

pass, 
They could n't knock him in the head, but turned him 

out to grass,- — 
Like an old horse past work; and yet they should 

have found him hay. 
They could n't afford a span, and so the old one 

turned away. 



AN EARLY SCENE REVISITED. 9 

VI. 

'* The young one was right smart, sir, and had been 

upon the stage; 
Unlike the old-fogy preachers of the narrow bygone 

age, — 
Had no particular doctrine save that ' buttered bread is 

best,' 
But gave in words their money's worth, and left to 

heaven the rest. 
His sentences were exquisite, and tipped full oft with 

rhyme ; 
His hits and points like razors keen, the sharpest of 

their time. 
His greatest masterpiece each year upon Fast-day he 

read ; 
He painted there the poor man's doom who steals a 

loaf of bread. 
The rich all heard it with delight, but the poor ('t was 

somewhat queer) 
Lacked taste to admire a saint who spent three thousand 

crowns a year. 

VII. 

" One foolish fellow said the priest was too well-fed to 

preach. 
And Virtue's standard set so high that none might 

hope to reach. 

2 



lO AN EARLY SCENE REVISITED. 

He deemed those words of warning with far greatei 

weight would fall, 
If he himself had grazed upon the sour side of the 

wall. 
'T was said he 'd been a gambler, reformed some time 

ago. 
Which made him very popular; we couldn't keep him, 

though ! 
His salary was too small, and, when his preaching fit 

was o'er, 
I grieve to say he left us, and to gambling went once 

more — 
Has now become a candidate for Congress, as I hear; 
He failed last season, but they think to get him in 

next year." 

vni. 

'^ And the wise physician, friend of all the village, where 

is he? 
Near yonder corner, surely, the low brown house should 

be. 
A lovely brook flowed through the ground, and flowers 

of thousand dyes 
The green banks gemmed, and there we used to walk 

and botanize. 
The flowers, perhaps, have perished; hath the streamlet 

failed as well?" 
'* The house was burned, some years ago, where stands 

yon brick hotel. 



AN EARLY SCENE REVISITED. n 

And the brook, that 's now the common sewer, runs 

arched beneath the street. 
As for the man (t 'was so he willed), yon rock is at 

his feet, 
With scarlet lichens crowned, and at his head a maple 

tree." 
"Ah, long-lost friend, how oft did I enjoy such things 

with thee ! " 

IX. 

** He used to wonder much that men, by superstitious fears, 
Should render death more dreadful than in Nature it 

appears ; 
He oft would smile, in passing, at the figures on the 

stones. 
And say they ne'er should garnish him with death's- 
heads and cross-bones; 
And that no other monument should stand above his 

mould 
Than the maple, which in fall would glow in crimson 

and in gold. 
And now the pines and spruces, which gird his grave 

around. 
Already with their last year's leaves have carpeted the 

ground ; 
And the maple soon, with crimson blush, will beautiful 

appear. 
And make his grave smile sweetly at the closing of 

the year. 



12 AN EARLY SCENE REVISITED. 

X. 

"■ I 've heard him say : ' 'T is very true that evil doth 

exist, 
And 't is true the laws that govern us no mortal can 

resist; 
Yet, if we had the power to alter all things at our will, 
We still should say 't were best that Nature's law 

should govern still. 
And I 'm glad to think so vast, although so dark, the 

Almighty plan, 
And that so little power to change hath been allowed 

to man. 
I often think within myself that this universe so grand 
Must be made for some good reason that I do not 

understand; 
Nay, I deem it joy, not sorrow, to be fated to submit, 
And, if I could, you may be sure I would not alter it.' 

XL 

"Once he said: 'Men seek but little this brief life to 

adorn. 
They live so hard, almost it seems a pity to be born ! 
Life, merely flecked with sorrow, they make a scene of 

woe, 
But the fault is not in Nature — she has not made it so. 
To do no wrong to any man, to wish all good to all, 
In God's hand to rest trustfully, whether we stand or 

fall, 



. ^.y¥ 



AJV EARLY SCENE REVISITED. 13 

And a cheerful disposition, which a good heart ever 

brings, 
Can yield at least contentment, in the lack of other 

things. 
We ask too much, and hence we lose the little that is 

ours.' " 
** Oh, Sexton, give me one of those dear scarlet lichen 

flowers ! " 

XII. 

" * Men are slaves to pride,' said he, ' much troubled 

about wealth. 
Though a hard crust with labor hard, good conscience, 

and good health, 
And the love of all one's neighbors, is enough. If 

men were wise, 
They'd smile to think "that any should deem this self- 
sacrifice — 
As if creed alone had made a rule of love for man to 

obey ! 
'T is but a fool his peace would seek in any other 

way. 
And, as for labor, if,' said he, ' it was the primal 

curse. 
The blessed state of idleness were infinitely worse. 
If men were more enhghtened, how much happier they 

might be ! ' " 
'' Reach me, good friend, one single leaf from yonder 

maple tree ! " 



14 



AN EARLY SCENE REVISITED. 



XIII. 

** Once he whispered with a smile, when the parson 

wished to each 
* A blessed death,' ' A blessed life were worthier far to 

preach.' 
And again : ' If, when a man might die, he could but 

truly say 
He had saved his honor and good name until he had 

grown gray, 
Had earned his bread (no more), did never wholly 

starve or freeze, 
Was never more than half his life a victim to disease. 
Had but kept one friend in twenty, howe'er greatly to 

his cost. 
Had loved and had been loved, and, though all else 

had long been lost, 
Had saved his peace of mind at last, — few so happy 

were as he.' " 
"■ A little bit of that gray rock, O Sexton, break for 

me!" 

XIV. 

'' He said, just ere he died, there were few lived half 

their days; 
Men with their bodies put their souls at war a thousand 

ways; 
That the senseless cramming of the one and the starving 

of the other 
Made man more cruel to himself than even to his brother. 



AN EARLY SCENE REVISITED. 



15 



* Dark hours,' he said, ' I Ve sought to mak^ more 

cheerful all my life ; 
I 've ever aimed to free my heart from bitterness and 

strife. 
By art I keep a smiling face, though gasping now for 

breath ; 
Do thou by art still make my grave look cheerful after 

death.' 
I said I would ! His face grew grave, nor did that 

smile restore. 
I 've kept my word ! " '' My thanks be thine ! We see 

his like no more ! 

XV. 

" Now tell me one thing further, good Sexton, while I 

stay ; 
I '11 trouble you but briefly, for I long to be away. 
Pray, know you aught of two fair maids, perhaps no 

longer fair. 
Who in the Gothic College dwelt, that stands by Lake 

Sinclair? 
They were most kind to me of old, — sire, mother, 

brother, all. 
And gave me friendly welcome ever, both in bower 

and hall. 
I dare not visit — tell, I ask, are all alive and well? 
I ask, and yet I ask it not, and fear lest you should 

tell." 



l6 AN EARLY SCENE REVISITED. 

"Brentwood Hall, sir?" *' Yes, the same! Now speak 

and quell my fears ; 
Say that all live ! " " You know, sir, much takes place 

in twenty years." 

XVI. 

"And now, friend, this is all I'd say; you know that 

boys at school 
Fall in love, and I with reason, as not used to play 

the fool. 
'T is long ago, yet, when one day, we walked beside 

the lake. 
The younger gave a lily, saying, * Keep it for my sake.' 
Friends value such small trifles, and this to me was dear; 
And I thought 't were sweet to show it safe and sound 

some future year. 
We danced together on the eve ; we parted, and I said, 
* Though twenty years must separate, yet, if I live, fair 

maid, 
This lily shall return some future day, and o'er the 

main 
Shall come, though scentless, back with me, to visit 

you again.' 

XVII. 

" 'T is twenty years to-day ! And I have kept it in a 

book. 
Pressed safely, hoping still, or by the lake or by the 

brook. 



V CJ» ,1 



AN EARLY SCENE REVISITED, 



17 



To show it yet unbroken, and say proudly, ' Do you 

know 
The Httle token that you gave so many years ago ? ' 
Just twenty years to-day it is — God grant she Hveth 

still ! 
Good Sexton, all these other things may perish if they 

will. 
And Fate will I forgive, may I but spend one happy 

hour 
In weeping for the buried past, with her who gave this 

flower. 
Just twenty years to-day! Lives she? Oh, speak and 

quell my fears ! " 
" We were saying but just now, sir, imtch takes place 

in twenty years ! 

XVIII. 

"You knew these folks? I'd gladly tell things pleasant 
of the past; 

My cottage was their gift — times changed — misfortunes 
came at last. 

The family decayed; the father died; the only son 

For somewhat was disgraced, but I know not what he 
had done. 

The elder daughter left the place, and went I know not 
where ; 

The younger, cheerful alway, was unwilling to de- 
spair, 

3 



1 8 AN EARLY SCENE REVISITED. 

And to help the aged mother took in sewing for a while. 
And, when she died — 't was in my house — she pointed 

with a smile 
To an old book: 'I've nought but this; keep it, old 

friend,' said she, 
' And save the rose, for 't was the gift of one most 

dear to me.' " 

XIX. 

'* The rose was mine ! Now will I go to the fair lake 

once more. 
View the old garden and the house, and wander on the 

shore. 
And muse awhile ; then never will I see this place 

again ! 
I thank you, friend ! " *' Nay, wait awhile, your labor 

is in vain. 
The house is gone, the garden too, the pond is walled 

about ; 
An ice-house stands at every rod, half in the deep, 

half out. 
No beach there now." ** Say, neighbor, was she buried 

by your hand? 
Pray tell me where." " Oh, stranger, look ! Upon her 

grave you stand." 
*' Nay, nay, forgive, sweet Spirit, in whatever world 

thou be, 
O thou that dwellest in my heart, that I should tread 

on thee ! 



z> 



AN EARLY SCENE REVISITED. 



XX. 



19 



'' O friends, and things I loved of old, and must you 

be no more?" 
" Stranger, I lack myself the power of loving as of 

yore." 
" Old man ! If all the world were mine, I 'd give the 

world straightway. 
Could I but make things what they were in that sweet 

olden day." 
" And I, if all earth's wealth were mine, would give it 

with good will 
To keep the wheel of change within the world's mill 

turning still." 
" Happy must be the man for whom each moment is 

so blest. 
You 've had no sorrow, then ; your heart beats quiet in 

your breast. 
Friend, were there e'er such men, why, surely he who 

can forget 
Past joys, nor wish them back, must find the present 

happier yet." 

XXI. 

" Ah, think not, stranger, you alone in this wide world 

have cares ; 
There 's none were ever dear to me but now this 

churchyard bears, — 



20 AN EARLY SCENE REVISITED. 

Wife, children, friends ! Yet deem not I so little reck 

of pain 
That I would call the dead to life, and lose them o'er 

again ! 
'T is true, my life is dull ; I bury men from year to year, 
But am too old to whine, and now even change itself 

grows dear. 
I wish 't were swifter still, and oft the wish comes to 

my mind, 
When life seems weary, that I might but leave these 

cramps behind; 
And then I grow less hopeless of a world that 's 

without pain, 
Where this poor, cracked, and shattered frame may be 

patched up again, — 

XXII. 

" The broken be made whole with all of which it once 

was part. 
There are more cares for me, 't is true, but I keep up 

good heart. 
Grave-digging keeps me warm, at least, and, the favor 

to repay, 
I hope some one with digging mine may sweat no 

distant day." 
'* God grant thee many, many happy days, old man ! " 

*' Nay, nay, 
My work is done; go home with me, or till to-morrow 

stay. 



AN EARLY SCENE REVISITED. 2 1 

You wish to look about, and \ were to me a dear 
delight 

With one who knew this place of old, to chat through- 
out the night." 

" I '11 go ! " " Thanks ! thanks ! and share my humble 
meal without disdain ; 

We'll drink the memory of old times, not wish them 
back again ! " 



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